


by your side

by littlervoice



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Blind!Harry, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-16
Updated: 2015-08-16
Packaged: 2018-04-15 01:52:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4588539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlervoice/pseuds/littlervoice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“What does Niall look like?”<br/>“Why don’t you ask him yourself?” Zayn counters. Harry can feel him shifting on the bed next to him, moving to sit cross legged as he always does when Harry gets serious.<br/>“Because people always talk themselves down,” Harry says. “Like when you told me you’re nothing special even though I have it on good authority that you’re a walking talking god.”</i>
</p><p>Harry is blind and Niall gets partnered up with him for a project.</p>
            </blockquote>





	by your side

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by the brazilian film [The Way He Looks (Hoje Eu Quero Voltar Sozinho)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fKjLG-GM8vk&index=51&list=FLns-VQL3egPAo_JsQEhkh4w)
> 
> (sorry if this is inaccurate at all)

It’s bitterly cold out for September and Harry wishes he’d thought to bring a coat with him for the journey to university. But despite the harsh wind whipping down the street that leaves the tip of his nose cold and probably bright red, he doesn’t walk any faster.

In fact, if anything, his pace is probably slower than normal. Even Zayn tugging on his elbow and moaning at him to _hurry the fuck up_ doesn’t make Harry pick up the pace.

“It’s only a big deal because you’re making it a big deal.”

“Everything’s a big deal when it comes to me, Zayn.”

Zayn laughs. “Alright, bighead.”

Harry shrugs Zayn’s grip from his arm and elbows him in the chest. “Shut up, you know what I mean,” he says, only half-concentrating on the conversation now that he doesn’t have Zayn to steer him and make sure he doesn’t fall off the curb or walk into a lamppost or do something else equally as stupid.

“Yeah, you have me as your personal assistant,” Zayn quips, “you are a big deal, indeed.”

Harry scoffs away Zayn’s remark, but it’s true.

Losing one’s sight is a pretty big fucking deal.

Gone are the days when Harry was just finally beginning to gain a sliver of independence, replaced by a time where he relies on everyone more than he likes to admit.

Roping his only friend into walking him to and from university every day to make sure Harry doesn’t get lost or hurt – despite it being completely out of Zayn’s way to do so.

Having to get the university librarian to order in his required textbooks in Braille. And then having to get her to do it again after she ordered the wrong one and Harry found himself reading about astrophysics in the middle of his English class.

Having the university supply him with a specialist laptop free of charge to allow Harry to access the online class materials, when the rest of the student body has to buy their own or use the library computers.

Special treatment.

That’s what he sometimes calls it.

His mum will just tut fondly and say that it’s great the university is being so accommodating. Normally he’ll just politely nod and agree. But if Harry’s in a particularly foul mood he’ll mutter something about them being legally obligated to provide these things, that he just feels awkward getting them to do all these things and that he’s making things difficult for everyone. Like later today, probably.

Zayn’s hand finds Harry’s elbow again, as if sensing Harry’s discomfort, and gives it a gentle squeeze. Harry instantly feels a tiny bit better. Zayn’s touch is comforting. Familiar. Easy.

“Mate, you’ll be fine. You can’t help the way you are and if they can’t deal with that then fuck ‘em, I say.”

“I know but–”

“Steps,” Zayn interrupts, signalling to Harry that they’ve arrived. Seven steps up into the south building, a quick left once inside and then Harry will be at his classroom. And Zayn will go to his.

It’s the first time they’ve taken separate classes since they started university together last year. But if Harry had known this class would require him to do a partnered project he wouldn’t have signed up for it. He wouldn’t have let his tutor convince him it would be good for him to do something out of his comfort zone, something different with completely new people instead of relying on Zayn as some kind of a safety net. And he wouldn’t have marched into the enrolment office that same day asking for his timetable to be switched because he was feeling stupidly brave and optimistic.

It’s not that he hates having to work with another person, he doesn’t mind it at all. He just feels bad for whoever gets lumped as his partner. Having the only blind guy on the course as your project partner is probably a pretty shitty deal, Harry reckons, and even though he knows he can’t help the way he is, he still feels like he’s making things ten times more difficult than they need be.

Zayn deposits Harry at the classroom door with a quick “See you at lunch!” and then disappears. With a sigh Harry grabs his stick out of the side pocket of his bag and unfolds it, then taps his way into the room to find his seat.

\-----

It’s not until the very end of the class, the last ten minutes, when Harry’s lecturer mentions the project. She doesn’t say much, just a brief outline of what they’re supposed to do and then tells them that she’s already paired everybody up “to save hassle”.

 _Hassle,_ Harry thinks bitterly, _meaning me._

She tells everyone that she’ll post a list of partners up on the university intranet later on and then dismisses the class. There’s a bustle of activity around Harry as everybody packs up their belongings and rushes to leave. Harry stays in his seat, as he usually does, to wait until everyone else has gone so that he won’t get in their way. But today he’s freaking out a bit.

He doesn’t know who his partner is supposed to be and he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to find out. He barely knows anybody’s name in this class yet, let alone has the ability to recognise them from their voice alone, and as usual his lecturer has already disappeared so he can’t just get up and ask her. With a sigh Harry starts packing up and resigns himself to having to make a trip to her office at the end of the day. Hopefully Zayn won’t be in a rush to get home tonight.

Harry’s just shoving his textbook into his bag when he hears someone clear their throat to his left. The room is almost empty now so Harry can tell whoever it is is trying to get _his_ attention. He zips up his bag, takes a deep breath and then turns his attention to the person.

“Hey, you’re Harry, right?” The voice belongs to a guy. A guy with an Irish accent and Harry definitely doesn’t know who it is. Has never heard the voice before in his life, he’d remember it if he did. It’s kinda nice.

“I am, yeah.”

“Great,” the guy says. “I’m Niall. I’m your partner for the project.”

“Oh,” Harry responds, relieved for a split second, and then, “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” asks Niall. “For what?”

“Sixty people taking this class and you were the unlucky one who got stuck with the blind guy for the pair work.”

“It’s no–”

“If you don’t want to work with me I don’t mind,” Harry says truthfully. “We could see if we can switch partners, or maybe she’d let us do it individually.” Better to give Niall an out straight off the bat rather than make things awkward later. Plus they’d be more likely to be allowed to switch partners if they asked straight away.

“Why would I wanna do that?” Niall sounds genuinely baffled and Harry feels some of that relief enter his body again.

“Well, it’s just. I know it’d probably be ten times less difficult and awkward without me slowing you down and stuff.”

“Slowing me down? From your answers I’ve heard you give in class I reckon I’ve lucked out. Bit clever, you are,” Niall says and Harry blushes at the praise. “Also, doing it on my own? Twice as much work, innit?”

“True,” Harry agrees, letting his guard down ever so slightly and allowing a brief smile to grace his features.

“Listen, I have to run, I’m already late,” Niall says after a brief pause. “But we’ll talk more tomorrow, yeah? Maybe hang out after class or something, figure out what we’re doing and all that.”

“Uh yeah, sounds good.” Harry’s glad Niall seems to be thinking straight at least. He’d been too busy enjoying Niall’s Irish lilt to put his mind to anything else.

“All right, see you tomorrow then. Just thought I’d better introduce myself now to save hassle,” Niall continues, and there’s that word again. Hassle.

“Sure, see you,” Harry says weakly, but he has the feeling Niall’s already left and that he’s talking to an empty room.

\-----

 “See I told you it wouldn’t be that bad. Two minutes with the guy and already you’re singing his praises.”

“Whatever, we hardly spoke.”

“Clearly he said enough to make a lasting impression on you. Haven’t stopped going on about his bloody accent for the past ten minutes,” Zayn teases. “Kerb.”

Harry takes the step down and then says, “Shut up all I said was he has a nice voice”

“‘It’s _such_ a nice accent, Zayn, I could listen to him talk _all day._ He could read me the phonebook if he wanted to he’s sooo–’”

Harry cuts off Zayn’s terrible (and completely and totally inaccurate) impression of him with an elbow to the ribs. “Dick.”

“Hey, ow! Would you quit elbowing me, I swear to God I have a permanent bruise there thanks to you, you prick,” Zayn scolds, but there’s no real malice behind his words. There never is. “Kerb.”

“I only elbow you because you give me a reason to,” Harry says sweetly, stepping back up onto the pavement. “If you have a permanent bruise there maybe you should consider being nicer to me,” he shrugs.

“Nicer? I’m already escorting you home listening to you babble on about this Niall–”

“Zaaayn.”

“All right, all right,” he relents. “I’m glad you got paired up with him, though. He seems nice.”

“You don’t even know him,” Harry points out. “ _I_ barely know him.”

“No, but so far so good, right?”

Good wouldn’t be the first word Harry would use to describe his and Niall’s introduction, but he figures it could’ve been a hell of a lot worse.

So yeah, he supposes, so far so good.

\-----

Harry sits in his regular seat the next morning, alone in the front row where no one else dares to sit. He shrugs off his coat and folds it over the seat to his right, and then sinks down in his own chair to get comfy for the next two hours.

There’s the tell-tale squeak of the seat next to him being pulled down followed by a rush of air as whoever it is clumsily sits down.

“Hey.”

It’s Niall. Harry offers him a smile.

“You don’t have to sit with me, you know,” Harry greets. “Like. Don’t feel obliged just because we’re working together.”

“Nah, it’s fine I want to,” Niall says. He slips his own jacket off and shoves it on the floor between his and Harry’s feet. It makes Harry cringe. “And anyway, Liam’s off today so I’d just be sat on my own back there. Said he’s super ill. Claims it’s a stomach bug or something but we both know that’s just code for ‘I went out and got majorly pissed last night and now I can’t even blink without feeling like throwing up.’”

Harry doesn’t know who this Liam person is – or what it feels like to be that hungover – but he laughs anyway. He appreciates that Niall’s skipped the shitty small talk, something that Harry is painfully bad at, and jumped straight to acting like they’re long-time friends.

“Well tell him I say get well soon,” Harry says and then immediately frowns at himself because why did he just say that? Liam doesn’t know him. He’s never said a word to him before. Having a total stranger telling you to get well soon is a bit weird.

Not that Niall seems to think so because he just laughs and says, “Sure.”

Harry does his best to keep himself occupied as Niall says hello to what sounds like the entire class as they trickle into the room one after another, all seeming to have something or other they need to talk to Niall about. He overhears snippets of conversations about parties and football and music gigs and Harry feels a bit overwhelmed by it all. He can’t imagine considering that many people to be his friend.

“So, the project,” Niall says after what seems like an eternity. “How d’ya wanna go about it?”

\-----

Thankfully Niall seems to understand Harry’s reluctance to study in the library so they agree on doing all their work together at Harry’s house. Zayn, Harry and Niall walk home together most nights after class, and then Harry and Niall disappear up into his bedroom and Zayn turns back around and disappears back home.

Somewhere along the way Niall suggests that he just walks Harry home alone, instead of Zayn having to double back on himself. And then that turns into Niall picking Harry up every morning too. If Zayn feels put out by the change he doesn’t show it. In fact, Harry thinks he’s grateful for the extra half hour in bed.

\-----

Niall invites Harry out for coffee one weekend.

It’s the first time they’ve done something together without using the excuse of needing to work on their assignment to do so. Harry kinda likes it. They go to one of the little cafés down the end of Harry’s street, Niall conscious that Harry doesn’t really like to go out of his comfort zone, and they end up spending the time getting to know each other better (although mainly it’s just Niall asking Harry all the questions).

“I can’t believe you didn’t learn to ride a bike, either!”

“Just one of the many things I’ve missed out on,” Harry shrugs. It’s a long list. One he’s tried to stop dwelling on over the years.

“That sucks, bro,” Niall says. “I can’t imagine not being able to do all these things because of something out of my control.”

“It’s not all bad,” Harry says, smiling a little as he takes a sip of his coffee. “Saved a shit ton of money on cinema tickets over the years,” he jokes. “I mean, no one wants to go see audio description films–”

“I would,” Niall interrupts.

“And clothes, too,” Harry continues. “Don’t have to worry about buying all the latest fashions if I can’t see ‘em.”

“Who, uh– who actually buys your clothes then?” Niall asks. He sounds a bit hesitant, like he’s not sure if it’s rude to ask. Harry doesn’t mind.

“My sister, Gemma. She buys me a load for Christmas and birthdays and whatnot. Figured it was marginally better than having my mum buy them for me, y’know? And she knows what I like. Nothing too fancy, plain and simple. Don’t wanna stand out more than I already do,” Harry tells him.

“Plain and simple?”

“Yeah. What–”

Niall cuts him off with a laugh. “Mate, I think your sister’s been lying to you. Your shirts are nothing but plain and simple.”

“What?” Harry’s stomach drops. “What are you talking about?” He strokes his hand down his shirt as if it’s going to help him see it. “What’s on it?” He’s almost afraid to ask.

“Well today it’s a bunch of half-naked women hula dancing,” Niall giggles. He’s clearly enjoying the look of panic and confusion on Harry’s face. “There’s also one with flamingos on it, one with pink feathers on it, this bright yellow one with weird flower things on it, to mention a few.”

“Oh my God, I can’t believe– I’m gonna kill Gemma next time I see her.” He buries his face in his hands in shame. No wonder everyone’s been avoiding him. Walking round university with ridiculous shirts like that.

Niall reaches across the table and tugs on Harry’s sleeve. He waits until Harry looks back up at him and then says, “They’re not all that bad. Sure, some of them look like you’re walking round dressed in me nan’s carpet–”

“Not helping,” Harry glares.

“But some are really nice,” Niall continues, unperturbed. “Like your black and white spotty one. That’s one of my favourites.”

“Any others? Or am I gonna be stuck wearing that same one shirt until Christmas?”

“Couple o’ nice striped ones. White one with, like, black paint smudges on it and–– Oh! Actually, I tell a lie. There is one plain one.”

“Yeah?” Thank fuck for that. He’ll have to get his mum to dig it out of his wardrobe and put it to one side.

“Yeah, plain black,” Niall says. And then: “Although on second thoughts, it’s a bit sheer actually.”

Harry thunks his head down on the table with a sigh. Brilliant. So when he’s not been walking around with half-naked women on his torso he’s been walking around practically half-naked himself.

Harry keeps his head there against the cool, smooth surface, willing his embarrassment to die down, and between the pair it’s silent for a moment. Until Niall speaks up.

“I don’t suppose now would be the best time to tell you about the gold boots, then?”

\-----

On Wednesday morning Niall slumps into his seat next to Harry on the front row, as he regularly does now.

“Hey, listen. You wanna go see the new Marvel movie with me tonight?” Niall greets. “Me and Liam were gonna go but he bailed on me to go on a date with his girlfriend ‘cause he’s a soppy twat.”

Harry’s lost for words. He’s confused. Has Niall suddenly forgotten he’s blind? Surely that can’t be possible.

“I already have the tickets so it’d be a shame to waste ‘em,” Niall says. He shrugs out of his jacket and then rests his elbow on the arm rest separating him and Harry. Suddenly he feels very close. Harry can feel the warmth radiating from Niall’s skin. “So what d’ya say?”

“Niall.” Harry says the name slowly as he figures out what to say next. “I’m blind. I can’t _see_ the film.”

“Which is what I’m there for!” Niall sounds excited. Like he’s proud of himself for coming up with the best idea ever. “Tell you the truth, I’m not really into those superhero movies. I was only going ‘cause Liam begged me.”

Harry frowns, not quite following Niall’s thought process.

“Which means,” Niall drawls, “that I’m not really bothered about watching it closely. I can just tell you what’s going on. I’m way better than those audio descriptive people, I mean, check out this accent for a start!”

Harry doesn’t point out that Niall’s accent would probably make him concentrate on the film even less.

“Come on,” Niall persuades. “It’ll be fun. I promise. And if you don’t like it we can just get up and leave. Pretend we're staging some sort of protest over the state of the popcorn in that place.”

Harry laughs at that. Niall always seems to know how to diffuse the tension and erase any unease that Harry might be feeling. So Harry finds himself agreeing.

“Okay, sure. Why not.”

“Great.” Niall’s grinning. “Pick you up at seven?”

Harry nods and pretends the butterflies in his stomach aren’t there, because this _isn’t_ a date. Even if it sounds like one.

Even if he finds himself wishing it were.

\-----

The cinema is packed.

The line in the foyer is huge, so Niall and Harry end up sitting near the back of the theatre and, as he gets comfy, Harry can’t help but think of the implications.

They buy an extra-large bucket of rubbish popcorn to share, which ends up wedged between Harry’s thighs. Every few minutes Harry will feel Niall’s hand reach in and dig out a handful of kernels, and it’s making him feel all warm and prickly, awkwardly shifting in his seat every time it happens.

There’s a sudden hush and the opening credits start playing. Next to Harry, Niall shifts closer.

Niall’s low voice is in Harry’s ear, describing the scene before them. He’s closer than Harry realised, making him jump so much that he squeezes his legs together and ends up overflowing the popcorn bucket. Much to Niall’s amusement he ends up with a lapful of popcorn, as well as spilling it all over the person to his right.

“Sorry,” Harry whispers urgently. He’s glad it’s dark. Niall hopefully won’t be able to see how flushed his cheeks are.

“S’fine,” Niall murmurs, brushing the last of the popcorn away from Harry’s thighs. “C’mon, you’re missing it.”

Harry gets used to having Niall’s voice in his ear, and Niall ends up doing a pretty good job of describing what’s going on. Harry manages to follow the story quite well, all things considered. A few plot holes here and there, but he blames that on the way Niall’s lips would occasionally brush the shell of his ear and momentarily overload his senses.

Niall walks Harry home afterwards, telling him some ridiculous story about a party he went to last weekend. Harry listens intently, reminding himself all the while that it’s still not a date, and not to be disappointed when they get to his front door and Niall doesn’t kiss him.

\-----

Niall is busy after class today, briefly mentioned something about hanging out with a few guys from the football team, so Zayn walks home with Harry instead. When they get to his house, Harry invites Zayn in and the two traipse up the stairs, pausing to shout a quick hello to Anne, and end up in their usual positions on Harry’s bed working on their respective assignments.

After an hour or so, though, Harry’s boredom gets the better of him and his mind starts to wander.

He wonders what Niall’s doing without them. If he’s having more fun than he does with him and Zayn. It’s stupid to be jealous, he knows, it’s not like Niall can’t have any other friends, but he didn’t realise Niall was even that close to the people on the football team.

He just misses him. And he feels like an idiot. Because he was only with Niall a few hours ago. And he doesn’t understand it. He’s not known Niall very long so how can he miss him so much already when he feels like he barely knows a thing about him. At least not in comparison to Zayn, who he’s known for six years but can go for days at a time without seeing and not get the strange sinking feeling in his stomach that he has right now.

Harry closes the book he was supposed to be reading and shoves it to one side.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Hmm? Sure,” Zayn replies lazily, not catching the hesitation in Harry’s tone.

“What does Niall look like?”

“Why don’t you ask him yourself?” Zayn counters. Harry can feel him shifting on the bed next to him, moving to sit cross legged as he always does when Harry gets serious.

“Because people always talk themselves down,” Harry says. “Like when you told me you’re nothing special even though I have it on good authority that you’re a walking talking god.”

It’s something Harry’s become aware of over the years. Ask someone to describe themselves and usually they’ll mumble a quick, generic answer. But ask them to describe other people and they’ll reveal a lot more. Like when he asked one of the girls in his English class about Zayn and she’d waxed poetic about his eyes for a good five minutes, whereas Zayn had just mumbled a quick answer of “brown, I guess” and then changed the subject.

“Piss off,” Zayn grins. “I just didn’t want to scare you off, knowing you’re in the presence of perfection personified. I’m told it can be very intimidating.”

“You know, next time someone asks I’m just gonna tell them I was blinded by your beauty.”

“I’m offended that’s not already your go-to answer,” Zayn says, trying his hardest to sound insulted but the giggle in his voice gives him away easily.

“Shut up.” Harry tries to shove Zayn off the bed but Zayn’s sat closer than he realised, so Harry ends up pretty much just resting his hand on Zayn’s chest rather than doing any damage. “Whatever. Enough talking about your ridiculous handsomeness. Your head’s big enough already. Tell me about Niall.”

“Where do you want me to start?”

“Anywhere,” Harry shrugs then suggests, “his hair.”

“Blonde,” Zayn tells him, “but it’s dyed. His natural colour’s brunette,” he continues before Harry can ask. “You can see his roots sometimes when he gets too lazy to re-dye it. And he usually wears it stuck up, but sometimes he leaves it flat and it makes him look different. Younger, I suppose.”

Harry takes a moment to consider Zayn’s words. In his mind he’d pictured Niall having dark hair. And never in a million years did he think Niall the type to want to dye his hair.

“Sometimes he wears a hat, too,” Zayn says.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Be glad you can’t see it though, it’s awful – don’t tell him I said that, by the way.”

“Oh, I will,” Harry jokes. “What sorta hat is it that makes it so bad?” He has this mental image of Niall showing up to class and sitting next to him wearing, like, a top hat or a wizard hat, or something equally as weird, all while he’s none the wiser.

“An old flat cap thing,” Zayn answers. “It’s terrible. Looks like he’s off to go milk the cows or deliver a bunch of newspapers whenever he wears it. You should be thankful you don’t have to stare at that thing on his head all day, honestly.”

Harry laughs, even though he can’t imagine anything Niall wears being _that_ bad. “Hey, maybe that’s where he is tonight. He _says_ he’s hanging out with the football team but it’s probably secret code for ‘I’m off to go tend my farm’ or something.”

“Well, if he’s wearing the hat tomorrow we’ll know it’s true,” Zayn smirks.

“Tell me something else,” Harry says once their laughter has died down. He picks at a loose thread he’s found on his bed covers. “Tell me about his eyes.”

“His eyes,” Zayn muses, “maybe it’s a good thing you can’t see them either ‘cause you’d probably get lost in them for days.”

“What colour are they?”

“Blue. But like a really nice blue,” Zayn says. “Like. Brighter than the sky on a clear summer’s day – as cliché as that sounds. But it’s true.”

“And then when he smiles,” he continues, “his entire face lights up, and he just radiates this warmth, you know? And you can’t help but smile along with him, no matter how shitty of a mood you’re in.”

Harry can imagine that. If Niall’s smile is half as infectious as his laughter is, Harry can definitely imagine that.

“He’s just really pretty,” Zayn concludes. “Beautiful outside as he is in, I reckon.”

Harry flops back onto the bed so that he’s lying down. “I wish I could see him,” he sighs.

He does his best not to get upset that he can’t see the faces of his family and his friends. Most of the time he’s fine with it. He’s accepted it. But every now and again he comes across something – someone – that makes him want to give everything away just for a chance to see again, just for a split second, and Niall is one of those people.

Zayn lies down next to Harry and squeezes his hand. “You can see his personality,” he offers.

“Yeah,” Harry hums.

But they both know it’s not the same.

\-----

When Harry answers the door to Niall the next morning the first thing he asks, before Niall even has a chance to say hello, is: “Are you wearing a hat today, Niall?”

Niall takes hold of Harry’s arm, just above the elbow like he usually does, and leads Harry down the garden path. “Uh, no?” He says, confusion clear in his voice. “Why’d you ask?”

“Just wondering,” Harry says, smiling to himself.

\-----

Harry wakes with a start.

There’s something tapping on his window. It’s not loud, not really, but it’s loud enough to jolt Harry back awake every time it happens. With a sigh he rolls onto his side and stuffs the spare pillow over his ear, figuring it’s probably a bird on his window ledge.

The tapping stops for a while, so Harry shoves his pillow to one side again and questions whether he’s been imagining it – until he hears the faint sound of Niall’s familiar accent shouting his name outside his window. Harry presses the button on his alarm clock to check he hasn’t slept in somehow.

When the automated voice tells him it’s 1:57am he rolls out of bed and shuffles over to his window to slide it open.

“Harry!” Niall exclaims.

“What are you doing here?!” Harry hisses.

“I’ve come to steal you away and teach you how to ride a bike.”

“How to ride a–– Niall, it’s two in the morning!” Harry hopes his mum hasn’t left her bedroom window open tonight like she sometimes does. As much as she loves Niall, Harry doesn’t think she’d appreciate being woken up by him trampling through her flowerbeds in the middle of the night in order to kidnap her son and teach him to do something that, essentially, is an accident waiting to happen.

“Exactly,” Niall calls out. Harry can tell he’s grinning. “All the roads are quiet. No pesky cars to run us over.”

“Would you keep your–– Hang on, I’m coming down.” Harry cuts off whatever Niall was about to say by sliding the window shut and then creeps gently down the stairs.  

When Harry finally manages to find the correct key to unlock the door, Niall is stood on the doorstep humming to himself. Once he realises Harry is there he quietens before surging forward and sweeping Harry into a hug.

“Haz. Hello.” He rests his chin on Harry’s shoulder. Harry relaxes into the hug – the best he can when he seems to suddenly be shouldering half of Niall’s weight – until he realises he can smell alcohol.

“Are you drunk?”

“No,” Niall responds instantly. Harry winces at the volume of Niall’s voice right in his ear. “Maybe a bit,” Niall says with a giggle when Harry stays silent. He releases his hold on Harry and steps back. “Had, like, one drink,” he insists.

“Uh huh, sounds like it.”

“’Kay, maybe like three or four,” Niall admits. “But I’m fine, I’m Irish; it barely affects me. I’m definitely sober enough to teach you how to ride a bike.”

“Right,” Harry says. He’d almost managed to forget why Niall was even here in the first place. “Look, just come upstairs for a sec, yeah? Need to get my shoes and stuff.” Maybe once they’re up there he can persuade Niall this is a bad idea somehow. Or maybe Niall will just fall asleep. “You need to be quiet, though.”

He ushers Niall into the hall and locks the door behind him.

“Fuck, it’s dark. I can’t see a thing,” Niall complains.

“No, me neither,” Harry deadpans.

He hears the sharp intake of breath when Niall realises what he’s just said. “Shit! I’m sorry.”

“S’fine,” Harry reassures him. He’d stopped wincing at the expression ages ago. “Just. Try and follow my steps or something. Stairs are a bit creaky, don’t wanna wake mum up.”

“Right, okay. Yeah.”

Harry turns and tiptoes back up the stairs, slowly so that Niall knows where to step.

“I’m pretty sure there’s a joke in here somewhere about the blind leading the blind,” Niall whispers after his toe gets caught on one of the steps, causing him to grab onto Harry’s waist to stop himself from falling backwards.

Harry huffs out a laugh and tries to concentrate on leading them both safely up the stairs, rather than the way one of Niall’s thumbs seems to have slipped under the hem of his shirt and settled against the warm skin of his hip.

Once inside the safety of his room, Harry lets Niall flip the light on while he fetches him a bottle of water. Niall downs half the bottle in one breath, clearly eager to get back outside.

“Ready?”

\-----

He feels like he’s flying.

Whizzing down the street with the wind blowing through his hair, Niall’s strong warm hands on his shoulders to guide him. To keep him safe.

Niall leans down to speak in Harry’s ear, breath warm against his neck. “Good?”

Harry tilts his head back, closes his eyes and laughs.

There was something about getting on that bike that made him forget all his troubles. He feels so carefree. Like he’d left all his problems and worries at the top of the hill before pedalling away as fast as he could. Like he can suddenly do anything.

And it’s all thanks to Niall.

Niall who eventually covers Harry’s hands on the brakes and brings them to a gentle stop, telling Harry that it’s after 4am and they should probably start heading back even though, no, he doesn’t want to either.

It’s a bit of a slow walk back to Harry’s house, with Niall having to make sure both Harry _and_ the bike don’t hit anything along the way. Harry wanted to stand on the back of the bike and let Niall pedal them both back home but Niall flat-out refused straight away, saying, “I can barely pedal meself back up that hill, Haz, I’m not as fit as you think I am.”

So Niall stands in the middle, one hand on Harry’s elbow and one hand on the bike handlebars and the three of them shuffle their way back. Harry sniggers and tells Niall that he probably looks like a right parent. Niall barks out a laugh and says, “Not a very responsible one am I, taking you out for a 2am bike ride? Someone call social services.”

They finally make it to Harry’s street corner, Harry recognising the familiar feel of the drains under his feet as the walk on by. He trails his fingers along the top of the wall next to him, head up in the clouds until he realises–

“Hang on a minute. Where’d you even get a bike from?”

“Found it on the way over.”

“You just found it,” Harry parrots.

“Yep.” Niall brings Harry to a stop. “We’re back,” he murmurs.

“Found it where, exactly?” Harry asks, brushing over Niall’s attempt to change the subject. He’s not letting Niall get out of this one.

“Just leaning against the wall outside one of the halls of residence. I looked but I couldn’t see anyone it belonged to so–”

“So you just took it?!” Harry shakes his head. They could get in so much trouble if anyone found out. A drunk guy teaching a blind guy how to ride a stolen bike at two in the morning. There are some situations you just can’t talk your way out of. Even if you’re Niall. “You can’t just steal someone’s bike, Niall!”

“I didn’t _steal_ it,” Niall says. He doesn’t sound bothered at all, really. “I _borrowed_ it. Big difference.”

“Borrowing usually involves asking for permission first,” Harry points out, and then when Niall stays silent, says, “You better put it back when you leave.”

“Yes, mum,” Niall retorts. Harry pokes him in the stomach and gives him a stern glare.

“Niall.”

“Alright, alright. Don’t panic.” He grabs Harry’s hands so that he can’t poke him again. Harry’s tempted to try just to see what Niall might do. “I’ll put it right back where I got it,” Niall insists. “They won’t even know it’s been gone, swear. I’ll go do it right now.” He squeezes Harry’s hands and lets them go.

“Good.” Harry makes his way to his front door and turns the key. Before opening the door he turns back round to face Niall. “Hey, Niall?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

“Any time,” Niall says softly, and then there’s the familiar ticking as Niall wheels the bike away down the street.

Harry creeps back into his room, hands sprawled in front of him to stop him from banging in to anything. He finds the edge of his desk and slides his hand along until he encounters something soft. He pauses and tries to work out what it is. He doesn’t remember leaving any clothes on there.

He picks up the article of clothing and brings it up to his nose to inhale. It’s Niall’s. He must have left his jumper here earlier.

Harry folds the jumper and puts it back on his desk. Then he slips off his shoes and collapses into bed again, even though he doesn’t really feel that tired anymore. He’s too exhilarated. So he tosses and turns until the birds outside start chirping.

He can’t stop thinking about Niall. How safe he’d felt with Niall right there behind him, despite how reckless they were being. How Niall’s voice had sounded every time he murmured words of encouragement into his ear. How Niall had wrapped his arms around Harry’s middle and held on for dear life when the hill was steeper than he’d remembered.

How he’d given Harry this. The chance to be normal. To do something ordinary.

Before he knows what he’s doing, Harry’s out of bed and back at his desk, where he grab’s Niall’s jumper. He tucks it under one arm and goes back to bed, this time lying on top of the covers. He puts the jumper on the pillow next to him and buries his nose into it, just inhaling Niall’s familiar scent.

If he pretends hard enough, it almost feels like Niall’s right there next to him. That it’s _Niall’s_ hand sliding down under the waistband of Harry’s pyjama bottoms and taking hold of his dick, slowly stroking him through to an orgasm so intense, leaving Harry’s back arching off the bed and sweat dripping down his forehead as he comes down.

After Harry cleans himself up the guilt kicks in. He tries not to think about it as he shoves Niall’s jumper off the edge of the bed and rolls over to the opposite side.

Sleep comes easily this time.

\----

“It’s so cool,” Niall says all of a sudden, startling Harry in the quiet of his bedroom. With the turn-in date of their assignment growing ever closer they’re hoping to get it near enough finished tonight.

“What is?” Harry frowns. Niall’s never sounded so excited and _in awe_ by any of their work before so Harry wonders what it is Niall’s seen in his room that’s impressed him so much.

“The way you read stuff like that. With your finger,” Niall elaborates, causing Harry to pause his finger where he was skimming it along the page and let out the breath of a laugh.

“It’s a pain in the ass,” he tells Niall.

“But you’re so quick at it.” Harry hears Niall get up from the bed and come to stand behind Harry where he’s sat at the desk. He places a hand on top of the backrest of Harry’s chair, fingertips skimming Harry’s back as he does. Harry’s face goes warm and his back tingles where Niall had touched him. “Did it take you long to learn?” Niall questions, seemingly not noticing his effect on Harry.

“A while,” Harry admits. He’s torn between wanting to lean back to get closer to Niall, and leaning forward so it doesn’t happen again. He leans forward. “Mainly because I was being a stubborn bitch who refused to accept that I couldn’t see anymore,” he explains to Niall’s amusement.

“Still pretty cool though,” Niall mutters as he reaches his arm over Harry’s shoulder to trace the pages of Harry’s book.

“Suppose so,” Harry hums in agreement. “Could teach you if you want.”

Niall’s voice perks up again. “Really?”

“Sure,” Harry shrugs. “Can’t guarantee I’m a good teacher, though.”

They swap places so Niall’s sat on the chair and Harry’s stood behind him. Harry leans over and quickly reads the page to find a simple sentence to teach to Niall.

“Okay, give me your hand,” Harry murmurs, concentrating, and trying desperately to ignore just how close he and Niall seem to be again, “and place your finger here.”

Gently he rests his own hand on top of Niall’s and begins to slowly work his way through the words, explaining how to identify all the letters to Niall. Niall is patient, quiet except for the few murmurs of acknowledgement to show Harry that he’s listening. Every now and again Niall will shake his head in frustration, his head dangerously close to Harry’s face, close enough that Harry has a faint whiff of Niall’s shampoo. He smells fresh, but warm and inviting, and it makes Harry want to do something stupid like press a kiss to the top of Niall’s head, or bury his face in Niall’s hair and just inhale.

Eventually they get to the end of the sentence and Harry realises he doesn’t want to let go of Niall’s hand. He curses himself for not picking something longer to read as he takes a step back to put some distance between them again.

\-----

Harry has lunch with Zayn after class today. They go to the university cafeteria and it’s busy as fuck so Harry sends Zayn up to buy his food because he can’t be bothered dealing with it and getting in everyone’s way.

He brings back Harry a plate of pasta, and about halfway through eating it Harry puts his fork down and says to Zayn, “I think I like Niall.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Zayn scoffs.

“You knew?”

“Mate, _everyone_ knows. You’re obvious as fuck,” Zayn says. “Anyone with eyes can tell you’re, like, pretty much in love with him.”

Harry hums thoughtfully. “Maybe that’s why it took me so long to figure it out,” he quips.

“Shut the fuck up,” Zayn says, but he’s laughing. “You gonna ask him out?”

“I don’t know,” Harry shrugs. “What if he says no?”

“What if he says yes?” Zayn counters. He’s speaking in his serious voice and Harry can hear him sliding his empty plate to one side. “Look, there’s always gonna be a chance Niall says no. And if he does, you just accept that and move on. It might take a while, but it’ll happen eventually–”

“And then what? Things get weird between us?”

“Only if you let them.”

Harry sighs. Zayn makes it sound so easy.

“Sure, he might say no,” Zayn continues, “but imagine if he says yes.”

Harry does just that. He thinks of Niall holding his hand instead of his arm, taking each other on dates. Calling Niall his boyfriend instead of his best friend.

He gets butterflies in his stomach at the thought, and as he slumps back in his seat, he can’t figure out if they’re the good kind or the bad kind.

\-----

It takes Harry a week to work up the courage to tell Niall. As they’re walking home one night he spends half the journey just trying to figure out the best way to bring up the topic.

“Zayn’s off on a date tonight.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. With that girl he likes. Finally found the balls to ask her out after weeks of pining,” Harry says, half-smiling.

“Good for him,” Niall says. “Reckon they’ll make a cute couple.”

Harry hums in agreement, not really hearing what Niall said. He thinks of the conversation he and Zayn had the other week. Best just to be straightforward about it, Zayn had murmured into his ear as he gave Harry a hug goodbye.

So that’s what he’s going to do.

He’s going to tell Niall, simple as that, and if it all goes pear-shaped he can hide in his bedroom for the weekend. Or, depending how bad it goes, the rest of the year.

Niall beats him to it.

“So what about you?” He asks. “Anyone you’re looking to ask on a date?”

Harry takes a deep breath. “Maybe,” he shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“No I _do_ know,” Harry says. They round the corner onto Harry’s street. He knows he has to hurry up and get on with it if he wants to tell Niall tonight. “I just. I don’t know if they like me back.”

“If only there was some way you could find out,” Niall teases, “like asking them, or something.”

“Not everyone finds it as easy as you, Mr Confident over there.”

“Hey, I don’t find it easy either,” Niall says. “I get nervous as fuck when I tell people I like them. Here, feel how fast my heart is beating.”

He grabs Harry’s hand and places it on his chest. Underneath Harry’s palm Niall’s heart really is pounding, but Harry doesn’t register it. He’s too focussed on the way those butterflies seem to have returned to his stomach all of a sudden. Did Niall just––?

Harry slides his hand off Niall’s chest. “Did you–– Was that your smooth way to tell me you like me?” He hopes it was. Otherwise he’s gonna feel like a right idiot. An embarrassed idiot.

“Yep.”

“Oh.”

Harry knows he should say something else. Something more eloquent, something with more than one syllable at least, but he suddenly can’t think of anything for the life of him. And the longer he leaves it, the longer the silence drags on, because Niall isn’t saying anything else either and it’s making Harry panic a little bit.

“We’re here,” Niall mumbles eventually, slowing to a stop.

“Okay.” Harry doesn’t know what to do next. He doesn’t know if Niall’s done with the conversation or if he’s waiting to be invited in or…something else. He stays rooted to the spot, shuffling from foot to foot. “I guess we–”

“Can I kiss you?”

“Oh.” Harry lets out a breath. Well that settles what Niall wants. Harry lowers his hand from where he was reaching for the door handle and drops it back down to his side. He takes a step closer to Niall. “Okay,” he whispers.

“Okay?”

“Yeah. I just–– I’ve never done this before so,” Harry trails off, shrugging his shoulders slightly.

“So I’ll make sure to make it extra special,” Niall says. Harry can tell he’s smiling, can feel the happiness radiating from Niall, and he can’t help but sport a matching grin himself.

He brings his hands up and hovers them about an inch away from each of Niall’s cheeks. “Can I?” He questions.

“Course,” Niall breathes out.

Delicately, Harry presses his fingertips to Niall’s cheeks, drags them down the angle of his jaw, enjoying the way Niall’s stubble feels under his touch. He feels Niall swallowing and hears him nervously laughing.

He traces his hands over the rest of Niall’s features, the arch of his eyebrows, down the tip of his nose, until he finds Niall’s lips. Niall presses a quick kiss to Harry’s fingertips and the corner of Harry’s mouth quirks upwards.

After a few seconds Harry slides his hands down the cup Niall’s jaw, and then closes the distance between their mouths. Whatever he’d imagined his first kiss would be like, this is a million times better.

Niall’s hands find Harry’s hips and he pulls Harry closer, breaking the kiss for a second to check if it’s okay. Harry’s only answer is to scoff and kiss Niall again with more force. He opens his mouth to grant Niall’s tongue entrance, and he’s so lost in the way this feels, this new sensation, that he doesn’t hear the front door opening.

“Oh! Niall. Hi.”

It’s his mum.

Harry takes a hasty step backwards and Niall has to grab at the front of his shirt to stop him falling over one of his mum’s plant pots.

“Hello, Anne,” Niall says, seemingly unfazed that he just got caught with his tongue halfway down her son’s throat.

“I’m just off to visit Harry’s grandma,” she explains and then turns to address Harry, smirk clear in her voice, “I’d ask if you’d like to come, Harry, but I can see you’re otherwise occupied.” She pats him on the shoulder. “I’ll leave you two to it.”

Harry waits until his mum’s car pulls out of the drive before he speaks to Niall.

“I, um. Sorry. About that.”

“It’s fine.”

“So should we, like, um–”

“I want to be your boyfriend,” Niall says, and Harry’s glad that Niall seems to have his brain working because apparently that kiss has left him a stuttering mess.

“I–– Are you sure?” Harry asks.

“Of course I am.”

“Because I know I’m not the easiest person to date,” Harry shrugs. “There’ll be a whole bunch of things I can’t do – _we_ can’t do together – and I know it’d be a lot less hassle for you if you dated someone who wasn’t, you know, blind.”

“Harry–”

“I just want you to know what you’re getting into.” He says it for Niall’s benefit as much as his own. “I won’t ever be able to see you, I’ll never be able to tell you how beautiful you look.”

“Exactly,” Niall grins. “Can show up to our dates wearing sweatpants and you’ll never be any the wiser.”

Harry doesn’t say anything. Just fiddles with the strap on his bag.

“Harry, I don’t care about that,” Niall says, serious now. He takes hold of one of Harry’s hands. “I like you because you’re funny and clever and brave. Not because of whether you can or can’t see.”

“I–”

“I want to date you,” Niall insists. He squeezes Harry’s hand. “I’m one hundred percent sure of it. There’s nothing I want more.”

“I just––” Harry stutters, “this is kinda new to me.”

“I know,” Niall says. "But you don’t have to give me an answer right now. You can think about it. Over the weekend.”

Harry mulls the idea over. A weekend to think about it. That seems like a fair deal. “Okay,” he agrees eventually.

“Okay,” Niall echoes. He gives Harry’s hand a final squeeze before letting it go. “See you on Monday?”

“See you on Monday,” Harry nods.

Niall swoops in and gives Harry a gentle peck on the cheek. “See you,” he whispers, lips brushing against Harry’s skin.

And then he’s gone.

\-----

They don’t speak at all over the weekend.

On Monday morning Niall comes and picks Harry up as usual. He doesn’t mention anything about Friday when Harry answers the door, just gives him a hug and a hello, and then finds his usual grip on Harry’s arm as they set off down the driveway.

After they’ve been walking for a few seconds Harry comes to a stop and tugs his arm free from Niall’s grasp.

“I don’t want you to hold my arm anymore,” Harry tells him.

“Oh. Okay.” The disappointment is heavy in Niall’s voice.

Harry reaches out until his hand finds Niall’s elbow. He gives it a gentle squeeze and then he trails his fingers slowly down the soft skin of Niall’s forearm until he finds what he’s looking for.

“I want you to hold my hand instead.”

**Author's Note:**

> littlervoice.tumblr.com


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